Same Old Lang Syne
by PeaceLoveBeatles18
Summary: Reposted without lyrics, so it is no longer a songfic but you can listen as you read. John Lennon runs into someone incredibly familiar one Christmas Eve and it turns his world upside down. John/OC


**A/N: This is reposted minus the lyrics because it got taken down by admin. :P And how many other stories just like this one are there? Yeesh, why did it have to be me?**

**Christmas Eve, 1965**

**John's POV:**

I wandered into the grocery store, my heart far from the Christmas season. I was on tour yet again and away from my family. Cynthia and Julian were at her mother's and even though I didn't act like it a lot of the time, I missed them a lot. The others were at some bar drinking the night away and having a good time, but I hadn't felt up to it.

The grocery store was, obviously, mostly empty. Why wouldn't it be? Everyone was home celebrating with their loved ones, where they should be. Where I should be.

Sighing, I walked over to the frozen foods, intending to buy a frozen dinner and head back to the hotel. I was not in the mood for a fancy Christmas meal. All I wanted was some comfort food. I'd probably end up watching some movie special and falling asleep on the couch. Great holiday spirit, I know.

And then, I saw something that made me stop dead in my tracks. It couldn't be her, there was no way. I hadn't seen her since art college. The blonde woman standing in front of the frozen vegetables looked so much like my ex-girlfriend Grace Harvey, it was uncanny. I hadn't seen or spoken to her since we'd had a rather nasty breakup after a year and a half of dating. The details were as vivid today as they were then. And still just as painful.

Hesitantly, haltingly, I walked up behind her and touched her arm. It might not even be her, but I was willing to take that chance.

Slowly she turned around, asking, "Can I help you?"

The breath was forced from my chest as soon as her dark blue eyes locked with mine. They were just as beautiful as they had been when we were dating.

"I dunno, can you?" I asked, a tiny smile tugging up the corner of my mouth. This was exactly what she'd asked the day we'd met, and I'd answered with the exact same thing then, too.

Her coral pink lips parted slightly and her eyes got big. She remembered too. "John?" she whispered, her hand stretching out slightly as though she thought I might vaporize like a ghost if she touched me.

I touched the tips of her fingers gently, feeling sparks ignite in my own fingers. "Would it be anyone else?" I asked, a genuine smile spreading across my face.

" Oh my gosh, I can't believe—" she reached over to hug me, but her hand caught on the strap of her purse, sending it crashing and spilling ungracefully to the floor. "Some things don't change, do they?" she asked, bending down to pick up her belongings.

"Here, let me—" I began, leaning down as well, but we knocked heads, hard. We both fell to the ground. A moment of silence passed before we both broke into a peal of laughter that just wouldn't stop. "Don't we look like a pair of idiots?" I gasped through my guffaws, wiping the tears from my eyes.

"The biggest pair of idiots who ever lived," she giggled, holding her stomach and brushing tears of mirth away. "Cor, it's been ages. How've you been?" she asked.

"Not bad, life's been pretty good to me lately. And you?" I said, getting up and packing up her purse for her.

"Me as well," she said. "A lot has happened, but most of it has been good." I caught sight of a band of gold on the ring finger and realized that she was now Grace something-or-other, née Harvey.

_"Here, let me carry those," I said, picking up her bags and walking toward the checkout stand. All the way there, we caught each other up on what had happened in our lives since 1958. Grace had gotten married, had a baby, and her piano career was flourishing. She'd played in a few movie scores and frequented famous concert halls. I caught her up on the happenings of the Beatles, even though she knew most of it. It was disconcerting when people knew your history before you told them._

"You four are fab, I knew you were going places," Grace said as we waited for her things to be bagged. "And I really like your drummer now. He seems so much more personable than that other bloke I met."

"Huh, says the girl who always disparaged of our hopeless out of tune state," I teased, nudging her side.

We traded a few more stories, and then the conversation began to trail off, leaving an awkward silence in its wake. I suppose it was only natural, seeing as we hadn't talked in seven years.

When the grocer finally finished packing up her groceries, Grace paid for them and I carried them out to her car for her.

"Thanks, John," she said, touching my arm gently and giving me the smile that used to start flurries of butterflies in my stomach. In all honesty, it still did. Her smile was just as vibrant and lovely as it had been, but there was a slightly tired, world-weary note to it. I guess that happened to you when you aged.

"Do you wanna, um, go, you know, go get a drink or something?" I stammered like a schoolboy, silently whacking myself around the head for it. "Unless of course, you've got plans, in which case—" Grace ceased my babbling by pressing one slender pianist's finger to my lips. I was grateful she couldn't see the blush stealthily inching up my cheeks.

"I'm on a gig right now, I haven't got any other plans for tonight," she said. "Johnny is with his dad back in Sussex, where we live."

My head was brought out of all my little thoughts of us getting back together and riding off into the sunset with a bump. "Alright, where do you want to go?" I asked as she instructed me to get into the passenger seat of her little, blue car.

"I dunno, let's just drive around for a bit," she replied, starting her car.

As we drove in the softly falling snow, it became apparent that all the pubs were closed for Christmas eve.

"Right, I should've known that," I said in embarrassment, rubbing the back of my neck. "Nothing's open tonight but the hospitals."

"The liquor store over there has lights on," Grace pointed to a little, somewhat rundown looking, liquor store.

Soon, I found myself waiting in her idling car while she went in to buy us some drinks. Grace had rationalized that she was less recognizable than I was. This was true, only because people pay more attention to the things that are new and popular and less to the things that aren't, even if it's a truly amazing piano player.

She came back to the car with a six pack of beer and a sheepish expression. "You don't mind, do you?" she asked, getting back into the car and handing the alcohol off to me. I examined the bottles.

"Looks good to me," I said. "Where are we going?"

"I was just going to pull in over by that park over there, does that sound okay?" she asked. I nodded and she swung the car around until we were parked in front of the scenic, little place. "God, this reminds me of Liverpool," she said as we pulled a beer each from the package.

I looked around, noticing that it did look a lot like one of the parks near to where I'd lived in Liverpool. Nostalgia raced through my body, not for the last time that night, as I remembered the Christmas I'd spent with Grace there. It had easily been one of the most fun and romantic nights of my life. It had also been one of the last, since we'd broken up on New Year's Eve of that same year.

Cracking open a beer, I let the amber liquid roll over my tongue and down my throat easily, sighing at the sensation. "I haven't had one of these for a long time," I said in contentment, getting comfortable in the passenger side.

Grace had a similar reaction. "Me either," she said. "Guess this is a bit of a switch, yeah? Beer tastes on a champagne budget."

I laughed, taking another swig of my drink. "I never liked champagne, it makes me feel downright odd." Not exactly the truth; the last time I'd had champagne I'd liked was on that Christmas so many years ago. We'd snuck it out of her parents' house. Ever since then, it had tasted bad to me, sort of how sadness would taste, I imagined. Or regret.

"Me either, it makes me feel too posh," she giggled, taking a drink and sitting cross-legged on the driver's seat. That had always been the way she sat for some reason. Some things just never changed.

_"Shall we toast to something?" I asked, holding my drink up. "You pick, though. I'm still just as rotten at toasting as I was in Liverpool."_

She laughed, pushing some hair out of her eyes. "That's true, you were a bad toaster." Tapping her chin thoughtfully, her gaze turned pensive. Finally, she said, "To innocence, the innocence of a first love, and the imprint it makes on your heart." Her expression was a tender, slightly sad one.

I chased the rough lump in my throat away with another mouthful of beer. "Hey, what happened to happy, Christmas toasts?" I asked lightly, my smile becoming slightly fixed. "My turn, now. I toast to now, the magic of living in the moment, and mostly for living in this moment." To make up for my slip in my tough exterior, I took a long drink.

"Why do you always do that?" Grace asked, looking at me with an intensity that made me squirm uncomfortably.

"Do what?" I asked, adjusting my sitting position.

She gave me the infamous Grace-look of exasperation. "You always act so tough, untouchable, and macho. You never let anyone see the poetic, softer side of you. Why not?" As usual, Grace managed to cut straight to the center of something without beating around the bush.

"Nobody would like that side of me," I said, taking another beer from the case since I'd finished my first.

Her eyes went straight through to my soul like I was made of tissue paper. "I did," she said softly. "I still do. I recognize every song you've ever written about me. Those are always my favorites because they show more of the true you." She also reached for her second drink.

In an attempt to lighten the mood a little, I groaned theatrically and flopped around in my seat. "Damn, am I really that obvious?" I asked, trying and failing to laugh.

"No, but I know what to look for," she said. "I have to say, I think In My Life is my favorite."

"Really?" I asked, only afterward mentally kicking myself for sounding so schoolboy-ish, again.

"See? John, the real you is so deep, compassionate, kind, artistic, and well, real. You can't seriously think that people wouldn't like that," Grace covered my hand gently with her own. "Don't be afraid to be yourself," she whispered. "It's a lot easier than being someone else."

"You've been reading the sappy cards at the post office again, haven't you?" I joked, faltering under her stare. "I don't know how," I finally confessed, looking at my hands.

Grace gently squeezed my fingers and withdrew her hand, much to my disappointment. "It just takes practice," she said.

Silence settled gently over the interior of the car much like the snow falling outside. I rolled my bottle back and forth between my hands, trying to think of something to say that wouldn't sound like I was just trying to fill an empty space.

"So," I coughed, taking a tiny sip of my drink. "You, uh, you got married?" She stiffened a little, sitting up straighter and looking a bit less comfortable than she had. Way to go, John. Way to freaking go.

"Yeah, we got married in '60 and moved to Sussex, which was closer to the performance hall that I'm a regular at. Johnny was about nine months at the time. He's a funny little fella, a lot like his dad," she said, looking a little bit sad. I did some speedy mental math and my thoughts skidded to a screeching halt. If her son had been nine months old in mid-1960, he would have had to have been born in late 1959... Which meant he would have been conceived... _Holy hell._

Memories of the passion-filled Christmas Eve we'd spent together flooded my brain. A bottle of pricey champagne plus some rather scandalous car sex minus a condom equaled a very likely chance that Julian wasn't my only offspring. I almost dropped my beer bottle.

"John, you okay?" Grace's voice broke through my thoughts, bringing me back into the present. I was drowning in the oceans of her eyes.

"Why didn't you tell me?" I whispered, all I was capable of at that time. "Why? I could've handled it!"

Her eyes got big and she set her drink down. My words had clearly shocked her deeply. "Would you?" she asked quietly.

"Yes, I would've!"

"John, you weren't ready for commitment at that time in your life. And from what I'm hearing now from various fans I've met in my travels, you still aren't. Things would have never worked out between us. Face it, we're too much alike. I couldn't put a child through that." She dropped her gaze, running her finger around the rim of her drink in mindless circles.

"You could've at least told me, though," I said, feeling a little irritated.

"What, and have you come bulldozing after me in a frantic attempt to make things right? I'd just gotten settled down, met someone who didn't mind a pregnant, scraping to get by girlfriend." Grace's voice was steadily on the rise.

I was quiet for a long time, tracing patterns on the foggy window with my fingers. At last I asked something I was dying to know. "What's your husband like?"

She hesitated for a fraction of a second, taking a drink of her beer to buy time. "His name is Michael Wood. He's around your height, light brown hair, green eyes, and a thin face. He's from London and is an architect. He built our house, and between our two jobs, we're pretty well off. When he's not working or d—he's a good dad." She broke off abruptly, changing the course of her sentence entirely.

"What were you going to say?" I asked, my voice soft.

She shook her head, long earrings tinkling musically as she did so. "Nothing, John. Please just drop it, okay?" I frowned, but didn't press her any further.

"Do you love him?"

"What kind of a question is that?" She gave me an odd look.

"Just answer it." I just had to know.

"Yes, yes I do," she said quietly, twisting a lock of her hair between her fingers. She may have been saying yes, but something in her eyes was responding with a loud and clear no. But what did it matter? She was right. We were far too alike and led very different lives. It would never work out.

_Her blue eyes sparkled like sapphires in the dim light of her car. They brought back so many memories of being in love. They sparkled in a way that I loved when she smiled and I made it my personal goal to make her smile and laugh as much as possible. I wondered if he appreciated her laugh enough. He had better._

"You haven't changed a bit since art college," I told her. "Still every bit the fiery, spunky, smart, beautiful pianist you always were." I meant every word of what I said.

She laughed in an embarrassed way, not meeting my eyes. "I've aged, John. I'm seven years older, wiser, and more tired. I'm still me, but I'm not the same."

"You're definitely older, smarter, and wiser, but you haven't aged a day." I gently touched my hand to her face briefly, savoring the feeling of her soft skin against mine.

_"I see you in the record store all the time, or rather I see the empty places where your records are supposed to go when you're not sold out," Grace said, finishing her second drink and setting it aside. I smiled, nodding. "You must be pretty well off, yeah?"_

"Yeah, I suppose. Money wise we're set. The traveling is hell and while it's great that the audience likes us so much, they get a little, uh, well, obnoxious would be putting it mildly," I chuckled drily, finishing my drink as well. "I see your name in a lot of movie scores, what's that like?"

She laughed, twining her fingers together. "Oh, it's a lot of fun, but it's also simultaneously boring, dull, and horribly tedious. The directors can be so fussy sometimes! They're worse about perfectionism than how you described Paul McCartney to be."

I gave a theatrical gasp, bugging my eyes as far as they would go out of my head for comedic effect. "Worse than Paul? Thou dost lie, woman!"

She laughed a genuine laugh this time, slapping my leg. "Your old English is just as bad as it's always been," she teased.

I made an indignant face. "There is nothing wrong with my old English and you love it," I said, crossing my arms in a huff. "Admit it!"

"I will not because I do not!" she protested. "You're making Shakespeare turn over in his grave."

"Who is he to be listening in on us, anyway?" I quipped, reaching for a third drink.

She chuckled, shaking her head at my antics. "You're terrible."

_"Shall we toast again?" I asked as Grace opened her third drink as well._

"You start this time, though," she said, agreeing with me.

I sent her an injured look before thinking about what my toast could be. "Erm, I toast to... the Christmas spirit and the joy it brings to all who it touches." We clinked our brown bottles together and drank.

"Well, that was certainly better than your toast on the last Christmas eve we spent together, in which you enumerated the many good points about my body and described them in torrid detail," Grace laughed and I joined in, remembering the many rather disgusting comments I'd made that night.

"That's right, I did do that, didn't I?" I gave a small chuckle. "What a perverted young lad I was, eh?"

"Was?" she questioned, her quirky half smile that used to make me see stars made an appearance.

"Oi, shuddup! You will be most pleased to know that I have refined my once wild and unruly ways and am now a perfect gentleman. Mostly." I grinned at her.

"Cheeky," she said, ruffling the front of my hair up.

The conversation began to trail off again, so I flicked the radio on. Not at all to my surprise, it was turned to a classical station. A song that I knew very well, mostly because it was the first piece I'd ever heard Grace play, began to play.

"Chopin's _Waltz in A Flat Major_, right?" I asked. She looked at me in faint surprise.

"You remember?" she asked, humming along.

"Of course, you told me everything there is to know about the song and Chopin. If I remember correctly, you were a veritable encyclopedia of that sort of stuff," I remarked, smirking.

"Oh, probably," she said, smiling. "I tended to bore everyone I knew to death with all of that stuff."

"You didn't bore me," I disagreed. "I thought it was interesting." I took another drink to bolster my courage and said, "Would a lady so lovely as yourself consider a dance with a lowly little man such as myself?" I bowed as far down in the seat as I could, looking up and wiggling my eyebrows.

"Out in the snow, but John—" her words were cut off as I ran around to her side, opened the door quickly, plucked the drink from her surprised hand, turned the radio up, and scooped her up and out of the car. "John!" she squeaked, clutching at my coat. I set her down and put a hand around her waist and took her other in my own.

"You still remember how to waltz, right?" I asked, guiding her around the deserted parking lot slowly.

"Of course," she said, getting a little closer to me. "This was one of the last songs Chopin ever composed," she said, blinking the snow out of her eyes. "It was written for the girl he'd been engaged to. That's why it's also called the Farewell Waltz."

I could definitely sense the notes of sadness in the song, but also the love. This song definitely defined our relationship. Sad, ill-fated, but still tender and delicate.

By the time the song was over, Grace's head was against my chest and I was resting my chin in her hair. She pulled herself out of my arms slowly. "Thanks for the dance, John," she said, getting back in the car. I followed her, taking another drink of my beer and wishing the song had been longer. If it had gone on forever, I don't think it would've been long enough.

_The drinks were finally gone and we spent a long time just sitting there. The alcohol was making me just a little drowsy and my eyes focused fuzzily on Grace. She was drawing hearts on the window slowly._

"It's getting pretty late," she said at last, looking at a loss of what exactly to say. "I uh, I should probably get going. Got a performance in the morning."

"Oh, right, yeah," I said somewhat awkwardly, the beer making my reaction time slow. "I probably should, too, the others will wonder where I went..." I trailed off, not wanting to leave, but knowing I had to. As much as I wanted to stay with her there all night, it might not be my best move.

"Yeah," she said, twirling her fingers together. "Well, this has been really nice, John. I mean it, it was great to see you again." Before I could say that it had been a pleasure to see her again, she leaned across the center console, erasing the space between us. Her soft, warm mouth was on mine before I had time to think. The kiss, though it was over in less than twenty seconds, held so many things unspoken from both of us. _I'm sorry, I still love you, I wish it had worked out, this won't be the last time we see each other_, and many other things that I'd rather not try to recollect.

When we broke apart, she gave me a small, apologetic smile. "I'm sorry about that, I just—" I placed my fingers over her mouth.

"It's fine, don't worry about it," I said, opening the door to get out. "Goodbye, Grace Wood," I said quietly. "May you find all you're looking for in life."

"Goodbye, John Lennon," she said, waving slowly. "May the road rise up to meet you, may the wind always be at your back, may the sun shine warm upon your face, and rains fall soft upon your fields. And until we meet again, may God hold you in the palm of His hand." She paused a moment, and then added, "And never, ever forget who you are."

I got out of the car and watched her start it up and start to drive away. I raised a hand in farewell and left it like that long after her car disappeared into the snow coming down.

_My heart ached just like it had when we'd broken up the first time and I wasn't surprised to feel the wet sensation of tears on my cheeks. She had been the girl of my dreams and I had messed all of that up because of my stupid, blind jealousy. Why did that have to get in the way of everything?_

I slowly turned away to make my way back to the hotel again. I wanted to get very drunk and then sleep for a very, very long time. A wet splotch landed on the crown of my head. I looked up in confusion. Another wet droplet landed between my eyes, making me blink. I understood, then. The snow had stopped and in the absence of it it had begun to rain.

Sighing, I pulled my coat collar up to slightly protect myself and and started to walk back to the hotel. I didn't want a cab tonight. I just wanted some time to think.

**A/N: This may or may not turn into another long Beatles story, but it'll be a long, long time before that happens because I need to finish at least one story before I start anything new.**

******Love, PeaceLoveBeatles18 (PaperbackWriter318)**


End file.
